Chronicle
by Samurai Bebop
Summary: A series of one-shots about what the soldiers are doing in their spare time. No rules and borderline experimental.


**Chronicle – A "Valkyria Chronicles" fanfiction.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Valkyria Chronicles. Everything is owned by SEGA. Please support the official release.**

**A/N: Where'd Chapter 1 go? :(**

* * *

"You know that's going to kill you one of these days," Brigitte said.

Largo flicked his lighter while sitting half-naked in the shadows. "Don't think it's the smoking that'll be the end of me." He lit his cigarette and put it his mouth. Due to the ceasefire, he didn't have much to do except sit around and wait for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Although these days he would usually skip breakfast because he'd always wake up around lunchtime. Lying on the sofa, he opened up the curtain beside him and was blinded by the incoming orange light. The sun illuminated all the dust particles floating throughout his room.

"Cherry asked if I wanted to go out for a little camping trip. Interested?" she asked taking a sip of a day-old cup of coffee.

"No thanks. You have your fun."

"Suit yourself." Chugging down the last bit of her coffee, she carried her bag of supplies with her out the door. "By the way, you look like shit."

"Couldn't care less."

"I'm just saying a shower or two couldn't do you any harm," she said shutting the door.

"Hmph." He put his cigarette into a huge ashtray beside him. Standing up, the wooden floor creaked with every step he took. On a wooden chair was where he left his favorite white t-shirt. He put it on before heading into the washroom and looking at the cracked mirror for a minute. Leaning in, he took a closer look at himself.

He had groggy eyes with disturbing bags under them, and his brown unkempt hair was full of dandruff. Opening the sink, he shut his eyes while letting the water run. The place they were staying in didn't have the cleanest of water. He splashed the water on his face, hearing the dog tags bounce off his body while moving around coughing. Under his white t-shirt were three dog tags, all which belonged to his old friends. Ever since the start of EWII the militia didn't receive these anymore. They weren't being made for worthless expendables. Hearing a knock at the door, he grunted and closed the tap.

Opening it up, a girl nearly half his size stood with a nice wind blowing through her hair. "Good morning Largo!" the blue hair said happily, giving him a salute. "Or should I say afternoon?" Unlike other days, she had a straw hat with a pink bow on, along with light blue jeans and a sleeveless light blue t-shirt to accommodate the warm weather. But like usual, she wore her trademark Darcsen shawl over most of her shirt.

"What do you want?"

"To get you back on your feet, sir."

Largo yawned and wiped the edge of his eyes. "Who put you up to this? Jann? Rosie?"

She adjusted her hat to shade her eyes from the sun. "A lot of people. I hope to spend an afternoon with a friend. Go out for a late afternoon lunch, perhaps."

"What if I said I'm not in the mood?"

"I can wait," she said. "Not too long before dinnertime. You'll come out eventually."

Largo stepped out of the darkness and closed the hotel door behind him. "Let's just get this over with." She gave him a warm smile and lead the way. "But you're paying," he said grumpily to dampen her mood.

They squeezed through the busy streets of Randgriz. This part of the town was especially crowded because of the narrow walkways. The higher-ups had shoved Squad 7 into this tiny area because it was cheap. This was near the underbelly of Gallia, so it is in your best interest to watched your step in this part of town. Lucky for them, Nils was nice enough to send word out to the local mob, lowering the chance of a mugging somewhat.

"I know a good place on 22nd. Welks took me out to eat there once. I think you'll like it."

Many people walking past nudged Isara on purpose, although she didn't mind. Even in times of desperation and war, people were still clinging to this discrimination against the Darcsen. Before Isara used to call out on their prejudice, but she had bigger things to worry about.

"So, I heard about your little pet project on the side," Largo said trying to make small-talk. "You're crazier than you look."

"Have to be crazy to try going where no man has gone before," Isara said. "Speaking of which, I need a new volunteer. If you're interested, we have an open spot for an experiment tester. We're currently in our prototype for the glider, so any help would be appreciated."

"What happened to the old one?"

"She's gotten a little sick of falling off buildings. Guess eight times was pushing it, so I don't blame her."

"Eight times? And she's alright?"

"Surprisingly, yes. It's very peculiar. Her wounds, bones, and anal canal heals much faster than your average baker. Must be all the bread she eats?"

They arrived to a small restaurant which reeked of beer and sweat. The walls had a dirty red color. Hanging on it were many old pictures of employees of past generations, candle holders, and shelves full of flower vases and other different items such as record players and decks of cards. At the front door was a stand holding newspapers and magazines, including old issues of 'The Writing On The Wall'.

Isara raised two fingers to the man at the front, who immediately started cleaning up a messy table, wiping it down and clearing any dishes. She took off her hat and shawl. She placed them on a hanger by the entrance before having a seat with Largo. He noticed she was being watched by a couple of shady looking oddballs sitting beside them. Once they noticed Largo they turned their heads to stare at their empty plates.

A blond waitress brought a menu to their table, and the two examined the menu's items for something they liked. To Largo's dismay, there were barely any salads or vegetables to be found. He kept quiet about it though, and just went with the cheapest item; a bowl of conjee. Afterwards, a tall woman wearing an checkered apron returned with a pencil and flip notebook at hand.

After the waitress took their order, Isara closely observed her colleague's face. "You look terrible."

"So I've been told."

"Do you have a bad case of insomnia, perchance?"

"Appreciate the concern kid, but you're no psychiatrist."

"No I am not. But I wish to do my utmost for a friend."

He leaned on his back seat and scratched his sideburns, contemplating if he should accept this brat's help. "Fine, if it'll finally get you kids off my back. But we're not friends. In fact, I think I hate you."

"D'aawww," she murmured, feigning sadness with an obvious smirk. The waitress arrived with a hot tray of spaghetti, meatballs, and a cup of water. She placed it in front Isara. Largo overheard a nasty comment about serving someone like her first, but Isara was too busy slurping spaghetti into her mouth to hear any of the rude comments being made by their table neighbors. Sauce flew everywhere, and Largo realized why she had taken off her shawl beforehand.

"Thought the Gunther family was a little more...'refined' than this."

"We are, but I like trying something new every now and then," Isara said with her mouth full. "Now down to business." Stuffing a meatball into her mouth, she licked her lips and put on her best serious demeanor. "What's keeping you up at night?"

"Nightmares."

Still hungry, she gave up on the serious talk and put a meatball into her mouth, savoring the tastiness on her tongue. "About?" she asked with her mouth full.

"I don't like talking about it."

"Don't keep it bottled in. Gotta let it all out, big-guy." she said swallowing down the saucy goodness.

He sighed, her gluttony and persistence reminded him of his naggy mother. "It's always the same thing. A certain day from the past."

"What, prom night?"

"No. And it's not that kind of nightmare."

"Oh thank goodness," Isara said wiping her mouth. "Heard about your little adventure. I didn't know it was possible for it to bend that far." Largo cleared his throat to get her back on track. "Sorry. Please continue."

"It was before your time. I was in charge of a small squad with orders to defend the riverbed crossing over at Saint Jude. There were five of us."

"Friends?"

"I guess you could call us...'close'."

"What happened?"

"Got into an argument with Frederic. Ended up losing control, said a few things I've come to regret."

"What was this about?"

"A girl."

"Oooooh," Isara said with a tiny gleam in her eye.

"Ease off," he said giving her a sullen glare.

The waitress carrying a tray of hot congee, walked carefully over to their table. Her discretion was of no point however, as a leg from a nearby table stretched out to trip her. She toppled over and the bowl flew out of her tray, spilling the conjee all over Isara. The hot rice burned her skin, making a bit of a mess on her clothes.

"How unpleasant," Isara said with a dull look of surprise in her face.

"I'm so sorry!" the waitress said picking herself up off the floor.

"Happens all the time. But a towel would be appreciated."

Rice dripped off her face while Largo's temper continued to rise. "Hey, you two gonna apologize?" he asked. The men pretended not to hear. "You guys deaf or what?"

"We apologize. Just couldn't hear you over all our wasted tax dollars," he said looking over with a smug look on his face.

Isara held onto Largo's hand, which he had spontaneously rolled up into a fist. "Easy," she whispered. "Waitress, we'd like a bill too please!"

"This war's going nowhere while you and a bunch of filthy dark-hairs play around. Our ancestors must be rolling in their graves knowing we're working hard for a bunch of worthless cannon fodder in the militia," he continued.

"You're carelessly running around without a care."

"Carelessly without a care?" Isara giggled.

"How many of your friends are dead old man?" the other asked with a thick cockney accent. "Did they die horribly?"

"I think I've had enough," he said cracking a smile. Largo stood up with a fork hidden in his hand and walked over to their table.

"What's up gramps? Hit a nerve?"

He stapled the man's right hand to the table with his fork. He screamed in pain and desperately tried to pull it out. The other tried to help but ended up running straight into a mean right hook. He fumbled after the disgusting noise of his lip and jaw colliding with Largo's fist. He then put his hands around his neck and began choking him relentlessly, gradually lifting him up before ramming him straight into the wall.

"So, you two enjoy indulging in other people's misery. Well how about your own?" he said in a low, threatening voice into his face. He continued squeezing harder until two hands pulled onto his right arm. He instinctively elbowed the perpetrator in the head, knocking the person to the ground.

Looking over his shoulder, he immediately let go of the man when he realized who he'd just nailed in the temple. Quickly coming to his senses, he grimaced in shame before picking up the unconscious girl, leaving the small restaurant before anything else could happen to them.

* * *

The strong windy gusts blew past, directing the grass towards the setting sun. Largo stared blankly at the pair of flowers resting inside a glass vase. Almost night, the clouds moved quickly across the horizon. He took a single piece of paper out of from pocket. This old article's subject was about what transpired to a group of soldiers at the hands of Giorgios Geld. Several windmills were spinning up on the hills surrounding the area. One headstone stood behind the flowers, bearing a name Largo couldn't bring himself to say since their last moments together.

With bandages wrapped around her head, a girl moved quietly past the rows of concrete stones. Largo noticed her footsteps coming from behind. "How'd you know where to find me?"

"You're not the only one that visits the cemetery frequently." The loose bandages around her head floated by the winds.

He didn't even bother to get a clear look at her, still feeling a bit guilty. "I can tell those are fake."

She grinned shamelessly and started taking them off. "Very perceptive."

"Not really," he said remembering the force of the impact. "What's the point?"

"I just wanted to show you what could happen one day. If you really do lose yourself."

"A one-time thing isn't something to be worrying about."

"Being unstable isn't going to be a one-time thing. Neither is locking yourself in a room every single day, sitting in the dark smoking."

"That'll all change soon."

She eyed the old news article in his hands before looking at his tired eyes. "Revenge will not bring you peace."

"Then what will?"

"Do you know what father used to tell me?" Isara asked. "Feeling bad about it isn't the hard part. It's letting go."

"Must seem like a cakewalk for someone like you."

"No," she said. "It's not."

Unsure and hesitant, he eventually raised his arm up and handed the piece of paper to Isara. She folded it into an airplane and threw it as hard as she could into the air. The wind sailed it out of sight as Largo grabbed his stomach, feeling like he'd just opened up old wounds.

"I'm sorry, Frederic."


End file.
